Desiderata
by Miss Selah
Summary: Like flowers. Like flowers in Hell.


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**Desiderata**

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I.

Bugs.

Crawling, putrid, they crawl over flesh like waves of goose pimples, leaving searing, aching bites as they pass, signs of affection. Signs of rejection.

The pain reminds him that even though he is a monster, a deformed ghost of a man, he _is _still alive.

Alessa wanted it that way.

II.

Darkness.

God created everything. God created the sea, the sun, the sky, and everything that lay in between.

But the darkness was there first.

Sometimes he wondered if she had created that too, just as she had created this place this place this rabbit hole that he can't remember when or where or how he fell down down down.

He would ask her, but she hasn't left him with a mouth and most of the time, he isn't sure that she's even there to listen.

She stares off in to space and he sits by her bed, the only sounds the echoing sobs of a nurse who cares too much.

Sirens ring.

The darkness is coming.

III.

This one, this one, this one is new. Not sure how she had the misfortune of stumbling in to silent hill, nor why she stayed long enough to get wrapped up in it's spell, but she did, as he did, and he did her the favor that no one did him.

The bugs creep and crawl like a thousand black stars, swallowing his legs as he looks to the sky, look? What can you see? Is it anything? Is it nothing? Is it something amazing?

Alessa hadn't left him with eyes either, but it seemed he didn't need them. Ash fell down on his face that wasn't like rain and if he had a mouth, it would have been upturned in a smile.

Sirens keened like a bitch, and the Red King pulled his cleaver from the poor woman's body and stared down at her with a sick sort of fascination, his pyramid that would have been a head only it _wasn't_nearly scraping against her.

Poor thing.

If only he had been so lucky.

The light burned through his vicious moon tan and he faded away with the shadows.

IV.

There is a line of ants, though he isn't sure how they got there.

Alessa smiles at them, the burned, ruined flesh of her face turning in a most grotesque fashion as she watches them crawl along like the pawns that they are he is they are.

"Aren't they pretty?" She asks with the most childlike fascination that his ears that aren't have ever heard. "They are just… so…"

She bites a finger and blood like acid drips and falls, one by one drowning the ants until they pool together in a puddle that's too large for so little blood to produce, but this is _Alessa's _dream and whatever Alessa wants Alessa gets.

The next time she smiles, her fascination turns to him.

"I'm_bored." _

Ah. Now he remembered why he was here.

V.

His first memory is of her.

Burning flesh, screaming pain, he was with her when she was a child, he thinks, or he thinks he thinks, because maybe she is putting these thoughts in to his head to, so really, she would be thinking that he thinks she thinks he thinks.

His first memory, though, whether it be real or something that she _wants_to be really so badly that it came true, was being inside of her.

Soft, scarred, hairless body, she clenched at him with frantic, grasping fingers, and suddenly he _was. _As though he had been born, he pulled out of her and looked around and for the first time, he had a thought. He doesn't remember what it was _now, _be he had a thought. Or perhaps he just became aware of his existence.

Though if that is the truth, he wishes that he hadn't. Wishes on every broken piece of shining glass that the sidewalk in Silent Hill holds like a jewelry store case that he hadn't. There is some bliss to be found in ignorance. If he hadn't been aware that he existed, then he could have slept forever in the darkness, deaf to the sound of crying nurses and dying babes who's only crime was breathing Alessa's air.

Bugs crawl over his flesh and he shudders inside of her, coming in sweet oblivion.

Alessa, the filthy witch that wasn't but is now, smiles.

"My dear, sweet monster."

His first memory is of her.

It's probably his favorite.

VI.

His held is filling with foreign thoughts. Questions, if you will, of things that he really shouldn't be questioning. Like where is he going? Why is he here? Where in the world had he come from?

He stands at the edge of town, staring over that dark, smoky ridge, and wonders what lies past the trees and the smoke and the ash that isn't rain. What wonders does the world that doesn't belong to her hold? What great mysteries have been unfolded?

Had he been there before? Had he had a wife, a child, perhaps a dog? A house?

A life?

He stares over the edge and watches the world drop away in to nothing, watches as it falls falls falls down in to a deep abyss and wonders what it's like down there. Can't possible be any worse.

Can it?

He lifts a single foot and prepares to take that final step, just as he has prepared a thousand and one time before.

The siren screams.

The man without a pyramid for a face steps back away from the edge, and answers it silently in the recesses of his mind.

_Yes Alessa. _


End file.
